The view from my horse

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With an enormous burst of power we lurched up the last of the almond coloured sandunes. Whilst my horse regained his breath, I breathed with a sigh of relief, grateful to still be sitting on him. To my left stretched an endless beach, relentlessly pounded by the Pacific ocean. Cows munched lazily on seaweed to cure parasites in their stomach and watched us with disinterest. To my right was a vast expanse of Patagonian landscape. The mainly flat ground was covered with dry brown dirt, rough green plants and a few rocky outcrops.

I love horses and in my mind I have visions of riding like John Wayne, full speed, one hand around a lasso and hair flying in the wind. In reality I am allergic and almost as uncordinated on the back of a horse as I am on the ground.

My lack of ability provided my gaucho guide Nelson with much amusement however as we belted up and over the endless sandunes and through the tall grass. Shy and unassuming he managed to crack a smile at the sight of me holding on for dear life as we went face forward down a sheer embankment. A little over an hour before, following some very vague directions, we had wandered into Nelsons house to see if he had any horses.

Jack the dog (not his real name) accompanied us all the way from the Estanacia (ranch) where he lived wth Nelson, his family and their odd collection of ornaments. Jack entertained himself with chasing cats, terrorising other dogs and trying to rouse the lazy cows.

Even if my riding left a little to be desired at least I looked authentic. My metal stirrups were bootlike and pointed at the toe. I held a thick rope for reins and sat upon soft lambswool for a saddle. A slouch hat would have completed the picture but Nelson was wearing the only one he owned and wasnt keen to part with it.

The national park of Chiloe covers 43,000 ha and consists of beautiful evergreen forrest, lakes and desert-like landscape. There was little sound other than the surf and occassional wild honking of geese as the horses startled them from their hiding place in the bushes.

I watched with envy as birds of prey soared gracefully on the warm wind currents and looked in awe at some young horses sprinting across the plain just for kicks.

On our way from the park we passed small farms and I glimpsed chickens dashing madly around in circles, a woman hanging her washing on the fence posts (Hills Hoist has an untouched market here) and kids playing roughly amongst the gravel and sticks. No sony playstations or television for these young´uns.

Horseback proved more reliable than our modern bus which got bogged in the heavy sand on its way out of the park. To my delight we were towed out by a tractor and then further delayed when a herd of cattle had right of way and took over the road.

Since Chiloe I have perfected the art of the one handed gallop through numerous horseback treks in Argentina and Chile. Up volcanoes, through forrest, down the main street of little villages and across open plains.

I am yet to come unstuck from the back of my trusty steed (unlike a trek in Wales where my horse took on my personality and fell over several times) despite the Patagonian hospitality of feeding you full of meat and red wine before you head out for the afternoon session.

Giddyup....or is that Hiccup.....?

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Photos

Riding in the rain
We couldn´t climb Villarica Volcano but we could ride some horses near it

Riding in the wild west
A horse ride near Bariloche was like being in the wild west